For his first public appearance since stepping down from the presidency, Citizen P-Noy chose, of all days, Sept. 23, a Friday, the worst day for traffic, and, as was to happen, a day of rain and floods.
He came to St. Theresa’s College, Quezon City, on an invitation he said he could not refuse, coming as it did from the St. Theresa’s Alumni Association to which two of his dearest and oldest friends, Thelma San Juan and Margie Juico, belong.
The topic of discussion: martial law. And he seemed only too eager to speak with the older members of the audience, and at the same time enlighten and instill in the younger ones lessons and memories of those dark days.
The forum also offered him an opportunity to visit the Immaculate Conception of Mary (ICM) sisters, especially the two who had smuggled his father’s letters out of prison. Both Sister Luming and Sister Consuy live on campus, in the Queen of Peace convent, close to the auditorium where the forum was held.
He is compiling the truths and touching base with the living heroes of the time before the story could be turned upside down to suit some people’s agenda.
Before accepting the invitation, however, he asked that there be only a small audience, no media coverage, and no political questions about the new administration. The alumni association board tried to keep to the arrangement, except that it just couldn’t turn away a fervent crowd of more than 200.
Looking, slim, neat, clean-cut and youthful still, Noynoy walked onstage to a rousing, standing ovation. He was wearing his fighting yellow shirt, tucked in. When his pal Thelma saw him alight from his car, she said she knew “he was not on vacation mode.” Indeed, there’s work to be done.
Warm welcome
He smiled big, obviously touched by the warm welcome. Acting as moderators were Thelma, editor of the Inquirer’s Lifestyle section, and Inquirer reporter Nikko Dizon, herself an alumna (High School Class ’93).
As it turned out, neither he nor his audience needed moderating. He was himself quite enthused and candidly chatty, and the long lines quickly formed behind the two microphones for the audience.
To get the ball rolling, the audience was shown a short personal documentary on martial law, which had premiered on his last vin d’honneur in Malacañang on Independence day.
I had forgotten how young he was when his father, aware that he might be killed at any time, put him in charge of his mom and his three sisters. He was all of 13.
He’s close to 60 now, but didn’t look it, obviously freed from the burden of the presidency, but not of his love for country. He refused to comment on the present political situation, because he knew how difficult it is, he said, for a new president. But he couldn’t hide his concern for what was happening to us.
He did not deliver a speech, only answered questions, which ranged widely—what he enjoyed or dreaded most about being president, what would he have done another way or not done at all, what’s to become of the peace process, what Martial Law was like to him (a question inspired by the fear that it might be repeated), how he was now spending his time, his plans, his love life.
Many just came forward to tell him how much they appreciated his presidency and how difficult it must have been to try to walk the straight path against corrupt public officials, and how proud they felt to be Filipinos during his presidency; and, yes, not a few told him unabashedly that they missed him.
He was his usual folksy self, very relaxed, refreshingly forthcoming.
The highlights for me were the lessons he learned from his father and in school: “Bawal ang sumuko; ang sumuko, talo. Walang Aquinong umatras kapag kinailangan ng bayan, siguro alam nyo naman yon.”
(Surrender is not allowed; whoever surrenders loses. No Aquino has ignored the call of duty to country.)
However, he said, he had had his turn and would rather leave our modern problems to fresher and younger leaders. His methods, he admitted, may be “as Jurassic as I.”
He also said he wanted to be fair to his sisters and their families. He said he got a bit of a shock when he saw them up close at their first Sunday lunch reunion at Times Street after he had moved back.
“Aba, iba na itsura ng mga ito!” he said he had exclaimed to himself. It was then that he realized the heavy toll his campaign and the six years of his presidency had taken on them.
‘Not for lack of trying’
On his nonexistent love life, he said it was “not for lack of trying” on his part or his mother’s. In fact, he remembered a time when his mom, upon learning he was seeing a girl she approved of, immediately had Auggie Cordero, her couturier, source the wedding material.
“Well, it’s still there, and I heard it has already yellowed—suitably discolored—with age. Mabuti na lang dilaw, baka naman para sa akin, pwede na yon!”
Traffic and floodwaters held everybody back, and the program itself started an hour late at 7 p.m. It was a good idea they offered delicious hors-d’oeuvres before the program, because it was to go on until 9.
No one remembered the president still had a dinner engagement. I myself got home at 11:30. The photo ops and the selfies just went on and on.
That rainy night on the long way home, I thought to myself, only six years ago, 42 percent of us had elected a well-mannered president who told us we were his boss— “Kayo ang boss ko.”
He stripped himself of the wang-wang, the car siren symbolizing power that would part cars like the Red Sea to allow privileged passage.
Noynoy, in fact, left us good economic numbers. His fight against corruption impeached a corrupt chief justice; cases were filed against other big official crooks. We were being eyed as the rising tiger economy of Asia, and our people, according to surveys, never felt safer against crime.
Upside down
What turned our world upside down in just three months?
We changed presidents.
Suddenly our country became unrecognizable to me, from a rising star of Asia to a sleazy drug-infested place that excused extrajudicial killings. The new president antagonizes and cusses our allies for reminding him of respect for human lives and human dignity.
We’ve gone from day to night, from bright light of promise to the pits of darkness in just three months.
Where was I when this crisis was created so that an inordinately angry man would look like the only and urgent salvation of our hopeless nation, and threatens everyone with “Papatayin kita,” striking terror in every God-loving citizen’s heart?
Thank you P-Noy for reminding us on that stormy night on the hallowed grounds of our alma mater that not too long ago, things were very different. We basked in days of sunshine, decency and hope. We held our heads high among nations. No wonder so many lined up to pour out their love and gratitude to you.
To be sure, you weren’t perfect.
As my husband likes to say, “Ang landas na matuwid ay hindi daang perpekto.”
That night we happily settled for refreshingly decent.
